


Life lessons

by BromeliadLucy



Category: AU - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:24:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a single parent whose daughter is just starting school.  </p><p>When you meet her new teacher, you realise you'd quite like him to teach you a lesson or two (ho ho)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was absolutely not going to write anything ever again as I'm not a good writer, but then I saw this picture of Sebastian Stan looking like the sexiest teacher in the universe and this happened.
> 
> (Image is here: http://marvel-lucy.tumblr.com/post/150282093209/life-lessons)

Packed lunch? Check.

Book bag? Check.

Sobbing child, clinging on to your leg, who didn’t want to start school? Check.

Sense of guilt that sobbing child hadn’t been able to meet her new teacher when all the other kids had, because you couldn’t get the time off work to attend the open day, and there’s no other parent around to take her? Oh yes, check.

Usual sense of guilt at being a single parent, assuaged by adding an extra chocolate biscuit to lunch bag? Check. Sigh.

Additional guilt at attempting to overcome first guilt with bribery and food. *Deep breath*. Yeah, got that one covered.

Overwhelming urge to turn to drink even though it’s not yet 9am? Check and CHECK.

You were, technically, dressed for work. Skirt, heels, hair done, make up done. I mean, you had to be, you had a 9am meeting which you had to make, right after dropping your child off for her first day a school at 8.50am, half an hour from work. Such a simple life. You were accessorising this morning with a damp patch of child’s tears on your shoulder; hair styled with dried pieces of breakfast cereal from where sticky child had held on; and a wide eyed look of stress and panic. You knew once you made it into the office, the young, non-parent, glamorous lot would look at you with that mixture of pity, amusement and sneering, and you would pretend you didn’t notice while mentally beating them all to death with a hole punch.

You loved your job, and you were good at it. And you loved your daughter. You loved her more, of course. To the ends of the earth. You’d kill for her, die for her, face the condescension of 20 year olds for her. But if she wanted to eat/have a home/be able to successfully badger you for the latest My Little Pastel Unicorn Princess Twinkleshoes, you needed to work. And so you felt constantly torn between the two. When you were working, there was the mum guilt. When you were with your daughter, you could feel the disapproval of your bosses. No win situation

But the first day of school was important and the meeting could screw itself and you’d be late. So at 8.45am, you joined a queue of mums and dads (ugh, couples) waiting to step inside the door labelled with pictures of smiling faces to start their long journey through the school system. The poor, unknowing souls. Luckily, your daughter was now fascinated by the sight of other children weeping that she’d stopped crying, and declared them all babies. She was now holding her own lunchbox and bag and making your heart hurt with the sight of her little arms full, all grown up.

Your turn came to reach the door and step in. The classroom was all brightly coloured walls and tiny chairs. A small hand reached up and slipped into yours, for reassurance, although you weren’t sure which of you needed it most right now. You smiled down at Isabel who smiled back, then you looked up at the sound of a voice.

“So you must be Isabel?”

Oh. OH.

“Hello, I’m Mr Stan. Am I right, you’re the amazing Isabel, lover of the colour green and, hmm… turtles?”

You could see your daughter’s eyes widen, how did this man know so much. She was utterly and instantly infatuated as only a 5 year old could be. So were you, but for wholly different reasons. He had wavy brown hair, blue eyes, just the right amount of stubble. He was dressed as you’d expect from someone who was going to spend their day wiping noses and painting pictures - t-shirt, jeans, cardigan - but what on someone else might look dull, just looked SO damn good on him.

“How did you know?!” your daughter asked in amazement. 

“Ah, teacher magic.” Isabel looked suitably awed. Then he bent down and whispered in her ear. “it says your name on your green, Ninja Turtle bag”. He winked up at you sideways and you could feel something inside you stirring. Oh help.

He straightened up and held out his hand.

“Mr Stan, Mrs…?”

“Miss. MISS, ahem, Y/N”. You shook his hand, trying not to think about how strong… and warm… and firm… it was. Oh god you needed to let go now. You pulled your hand away and felt the temperature rise in your face. Luckily, Mr. Stan had turned away again and was bending down and talking to Isabel, showing her where to put her bag and coat, giving you a chance to cool down. Or it would have given you a chance, except where he was bending down, you had such a GREAT view and that was not making you feel any cooler. 

When he stood up, you tried to pretend you’d been looking at a playhouse nearby and not his backside. Isabel hugged you, giving you a peremptory ‘bye’ and ran off straight away, suddenly happier now she’d seen a boy in a Ninja Turtles t-shirt sitting and colouring. You watched her sit down next to him and introduce herself, and tried not to get tearful as she settled in to a new friendship. 

“Well, she seems happy, so um, well, bye then”. Suave.

You turned to leave, but felt a hand on your arm. Turning back, you saw the teacher was holding on to you. OH that was a nice thought.

“Miss Y/N, as we haven’t met yet to discuss Isabel, could you stop by at the end of the day, just so I can find out a bit more about her?”

“Absolutely, yes! I, er, of course, I’ll be here.”

You left the classroom, passing by a couple on their way in and trying to swallow the hurt that you always felt on these ‘firsts’ that there was no-one to share them with. As you stepped outside, you gave yourself a shake. Wow. Nice one. You WERE a caring parent. Isabel meant the world to you, her wellbeing, her happiness. And yet your hormones had gatecrashed the parenting party and completely distracted you from Isabel’s first day with lustful thoughts. At least Isabel hadn’t noticed. As you walked to the car, you pulled up your work calendar on your phone and added ‘meeting with Mr. Stan’ to the afternoon. Nobody had to know he wasn’t a client…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabel is infatuated with her teacher. So are you...
> 
> Helpful advice: don't bite boys called Daniel. They taste icky.

Nothing quite like walking into a meeting, late, with snot on your shoulder, to make you feel small. Non-parents 1, 2, and 3 all gave you that understanding head-tilt that you knew meant they were weighing up which one of them could get your job when you were fired/resigned due to stress.

What they didn’t know was that you were wondering that yourself, all the while you were repeating that you were good at your job and your ability to juggle parenting and work was a sign of ability and GOD where was the coffee? At least your manager was welcoming, she was a parent herself, and had no problem with the occasional crayon drawing half way through a report.

You got on with your day, one eye on the clock so you could go and pick up Isabel in time, and one eye mentally re-watching the sight of Mr Stan, bending over to talk to Isabel… today wasn’t going to be the most productive you’d ever been. You gave yourself a mental shake and focussed, already thinking about the work you could get done from home that evening.

At 3pm you gathered up some papers, laptop, bag and sidled out of the office, hoping you looked as if you were heading for an important meeting. And you were. It was just that this meeting was to talk about handwriting and favourite foods and whether your child could tie her own laces yet (she couldn’t. You added that to the list of ‘things a good parent would have sorted by now’ in the bulging mental file you had).

Outside school, you mingled with the other parents and it felt like your first day again. Everyone already seemed to know everyone else, so there were lots of cliques already forming. There was a group who’d obviously all been to the gym together, all lycra and headphones and a healthy superior glow. Then there were the earth mothers/fathers, with the cycles and the healthy snacks. You realised you were being bitchy just because you felt very alone. Then the door opened and a teaching assistant was doling out children clutching crumpled paintings and pasta-shape pictures and notes about trips and *whispered* ‘damp clothes after they’d had a little accident’. 

Where was Isabel? The playground was getting emptier and you edged closer to the door and spotted her. She was standing by Mr Stan, sucking a thumb and clutching all her artwork. She saw you and came running full pelt, nearly knocking you over in her excitement.

“I drew a turtle and we have a class pet called George and I am going to read and I have a picture of a carrot on my peg and we have a tidy up song and I had two biscuits in my lunch and Mr Stan wants to talk to you.”

Holding her hand and listening to tales about ‘my best friend Martha and my other best friend is Max and Max has black hair and I have red hair’ you walked back to the classroom. Mr Stan was looking less tidy than at the start of the day but the rumpled look suited him. You tried not to stare as he ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up even more.

You sent Isabel off to the reading corner while you perched on a tiny chair and very definitely didn’t look at Mr Stan’s thighs as he bent down to sit next to you.

“So Isabel has been telling me a bit about her family but since we weren’t able to meet up before she started, I thought it would be good to talk. I believe that us teachers have to work closely with you parents, we’re partners in this!”

“Oh yes, definitely, that sounds good!” OK, REEL it back in, don’t go overboard. Oh god, and try not to go red. Nope, not working. Curse of the red-hair-pale-skinned, the full on face blush.

He was probably used to it, you told yourself. He probably had hordes of single mothers. And hell, single fathers and probably happily married couples all going gooey-eyed at him every September. You got yourself back on track, because despite your hormonal chaos, it DID matter to you that Isabel was happy!

“And Isabel’s Dad…? Is he around?” Ugh, how you hated that question. You were sure there wasn’t any judgement in it but you’d had enough to last.

“No. He’s not. He’s never been in her life; it’s always been just the two of us.” You could feel yourself getting defensive, especially when he wrote something down in Isabel’s file. He looked up and noticed you bristling.

“I’m just making a note, make sure we have some alternatives on Father’s Day. Grandfather maybe?” You shook your head. “Well, there’s plenty of kids in the school with single parents. I just like to know everyone’s set up. I promise I’m not judging!” He gave you the sweetest smile and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“OK, I think that’s everything. Isabel settled in really well today, she’s done you proud.” OH, that was the way to your heart. You called Isabel over and gathered all her things together.

“You had a good day sweetheart?” You smiled down at her sticky face and glue-y hair.

“The BEST Mummy. I like Mr Stan almost as much as I like you and Michelangelo!”

“That’s high praise, most people get compared to Splinter!” you grinned at the teacher and he shook your hand.

“Mummy, you should marry Mr Stan then we could ALWAYS play turtles together!”

\--  
Isabel settled into school, adoring Mr Stan and drawing beautiful pictures of you, her, Mr Stan and her imaginary dog Bucky that you stuck up on the fridge, avoiding eye contact with the teacher each time she gave you another and described the scene. As the year went on, her obsession with the idea didn’t waver, although alone at night, you had to admit to having similar, although slightly more… adult… thoughts.

September… “This is you Mummy and me, and Bucky and Mr Stan and we are at the seaside eating ice-cream. You are wearing shorts Mummy even though you are podgy but Mr Stan is wearing his cardigan because he always wears his cardigan.”

December… “Mummy this is us at Christmas, you are looking cross because you burnt the dinner again and Mr Stan is helping Father Christmas put up a tree.”

February… “Mummy this is a valentines card I am going to give to Mr Stan and I wrote in it we love you from Isabel and Mummy look at how I did my writing!”

Your ‘relationship’ with Mr Stan was going along fine – if you could call it that. You’d had parents evening where you’d both sat at a 5-year-old size table and your knees had touched and you hadn’t moved and just for a moment, it was delicious.

You’d had ‘parent child workshops’ where you came along and helped Isabel paint boxes to make into houses for plasticine creatures, and when he helped you clean up the puddle of brown paint Isabel had knocked over, your hands met in the bucket as you both reached for a cloth, and that was pretty delicious too.

You knew you were reading into it things that weren’t there, but these days it was all you had and you were going to take it. You were usually the last one at the door to collect Isabel and although you felt guilty for Isabel, and for taking up his time, you enjoyed the chance to chat as well, and left with a smile on your face the day he said ‘it’s no problem, I’m here clearing up anyway so don’t worry if you’re a few minutes late, I can’t imagine it’s easy doing all this on your own and working’. Ugh. Melting. Where were the guy’s faults? 

Around November, the recession hit and you took a voluntary reduction in hours. It was a relief in a way, there’d be less rushing around, although the financial hit was going to be difficult. You explained to Isabel how you wouldn’t be able to do quite as many things, and there were a few tricky days. A friend of hers had just got a new puppy from her Dad and suddenly there were lots of issues about Dads and money and why Isabel didn’t have either. The feelings were pretty hard and you both had lots of tears as you tried to explain to Isabel where her Dad was. Or wasn’t. And no, he didn’t not like her, he just… wasn’t a Dad.

The next day you were finishing up at work when you got a phone call. Looking at your phone screen you saw it was the school and all manner of dreadful thoughts popped into your head.

“Hello, is that Isabel’s Mum?”

“It is, what’s wrong, is everything OK? Is Isabel OK?”

“Yes, she’s fine, nobody’s hurt, I’m just ringing to see if you could come and see Mr Stan at the end of the day today. There’s been a little incident…”

Oh great. That covered a multitude of sins. When you got to school, it was to find a red-eyed and stubborn looking child sitting in the book corner sulking and refusing to meet your eye. You looked from her to Mr Stan, who gave you a slightly apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry if the phone call worried you. It’s policy just to have a chat on these occasions. I know Isabel’s a great girl and have no concerns about her, but we have to find out if anything’s going on…”

Your shoulders slumped as you listened to how Isabel had cornered a boy, two years older than her ‘behind the play kitchen’ and proceeded to punch and bite him. She’d refused to say why, or to apologise. You called her over.

“Isabel. You know I’ve always said that fighting is not going to solve anything. What made you do this/”

Isabel scowled and didn’t answer.

“ISABEL.” You brought out the Mum voice.

“He laughed at me and said I didn’t have a Dad because I had red hair and nobody liked someone with red hair and my dad didn’t want me and is that true?”

At that she burst into tears and you pulled her into your arms, guilt-stricken that her feelings had been so hurt. The teacher gave you a minute or two to comfort her.

“Isabel, what Daniel said was mean and not true. Tomorrow, I will make Daniel apologise to you, and you will have to apologise to Daniel for hurting him. If someone says something mean to you again, you come and tell me, or one of the other teachers, OK? You don’t hit, and Daniel shouldn’t say nasty things.”

Isabel looked up at you, all contrite now the truth was out. You knew it wasn’t mature but you felt like biting Daniel too right now.

“Is it true Mummy? Did Daddy not like me?”

You held her face between her hands.

“it’s not at all true. Your Daddy wasn’t… very grown up. He didn’t know how to be a daddy. Not because it was you, but because it was him.” You felt yourself going red knowing you were spilling family secrets in front of Mr Stan but this was too important to wait until you got home.

“Your Daddy didn’t meet you, so he didn’t know how lovely your red hair was, pumpkin. He didn’t think he could manage to be a Daddy so he had to go away. But that’s not your fault, I promise.”

You hugged her as she sniffled some more, then she pulled away and looked earnestly at the teacher.

“I’m sorry I bit Daniel Mr Stan. I won’t do it again. Because it was mean. And because he tasted disgusting.”

You snorted out a laugh and ruffled her hair – her beautiful red hair, that was just like yours (although yours had less yoghurt in it, you hoped).

“Thank you Isabel. It was very good of you to apologise and I’m glad you won’t do it again.” He stood up, and as he passed to walk you to the door, turned back.

“Personally, I think red hair is the most beautiful hair there is.” And he looked up from Isabel’s eyes to meet yours as he said it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is hard to be glamorous as a mother, and the Angel Gabriel nearly gets put in the naughty corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm up to my ears in work so I'm just splurging this out and not re-reading or editing or anything. Which is why it's RUBBISH. Sorry.
> 
> Also, I'm aware that there's way too much about being a parent and not enough action/Sebastian. Sorry. That sort of sums up my life. The next chapter has alcohol and kissing, which is way more fun :)
> 
> Thank you for reading x

By the time Christmas was getting closer, you were convinced there was something between you and Mr Stan. But you were also convinced you were kidding yourself. He was a nice guy, in a caring profession. It wasn’t too much of a reach to assume that meant he was happy to talk and be kind, right? And you were nothing special, so it WAS too much of a reach to assume he’d be interested. You were disaster personified. Permanently covered in something sticky, it seemed. Permanently in a rush, forgetting things. You held down a difficult job but somehow outside that, chaos reigned.

But now that you worked fewer hours, there was time to be more organised, surely. You were convinced every morning that you’d got it right, that today would be the day you’d saunter through life with men and women left open-mouthed in your wake at your grace and elegance and style.

“You, um, have toothpaste on your chin”. No, not today then. Blushing bright red again (making Isabel gleefully shout ‘you look like Father Christmas’s bum!’) you scrubbed at your chin then pointed it at him to check if it was clear. It was only as he rubbed his thumb over your face and nodded that you realised that you had been maybe a little inappropriate. And you liked it.

Still, there was always tomorrow for grace and style.

“You have a sparkly unicorn on your back.” You looked puzzled, as he reached round and you felt his hand slide over your jacket. Your skin tingled along a line where his hand had been, as he brought his fingers around to the front and showed you a My Little Unicorn sticker. Ah.

Tomorrow?

“You have glitter glue in your hair.” Crap. You bent down to peer into the mirror of the dressing up corner to pick the sparkly green goo out of your hair (remembering how Isabel had hugged you while holding a card she’d been making that morning). As you picked the last bit out, your eyes moved away from your own reflection to see Mr Stan behind you. You watched in the mirror. Was he… checking you out, as you bent over? His eyes met yours in the mirror and he busied himself with sorting some paper on his desk as you called out your thanks, leaving with a skip in your step. Maybe elegance wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Ah well, tomorrow?

“You have, um, a handprint…” You sighed.

“I swear, I’m a competent adult, I really am! Where’s the handprint?” You peered over your shoulders, down your front, twisting to see.

“It’s um…” he gestured vaguely, then looking around to see if there were any children nearby, “you have a chalk handprint on your bum”. You twisted round and sure enough, a little white handprint. You saw Isabel giggling in the playhouse and narrowed your eyes at her while trying to brush the print off without looking as if you were fondling yourself. Deciding you were clean enough, you thought you’d better get out of the class sharpish. As you left the door though, a thought crossed your mind and you poked your head back in.

“Mr Stan?” He looked over from where he was sorting books. “So, you were looking?” This time it was the teacher who turned scarlet as you turned away, feeling full of sass and confidence (until you fell over the wellies left out by a small child, and scurried away, hearing an adult-sized snort from behind you).

With Christmas a few weeks away, all the talk amongst the children was of the nativity play; a time of great excitement for all small children and great terror for anyone organising it. You’d volunteered to be a parent helper, purely to help Isabel of course. She’d settled back down following the biting incident, and now that you worked less, you were usually on time to collect her so your interactions with Mr Stan were a little more limited, which was a shame.

The nativity was a full-class affair. Isabel was hugely proud to be sheep no. 4 and was rehearsing ‘baa baa’ over and over until your dreams were filled with sheep. You were at the school most afternoons, finding an excuse to paint stables and sew shepherd’s outfits, and watching rehearsals when you could. Isabel had made some good friends now and some afternoons she went home with Martha or Max to tea, and on those occasions you would volunteer to help decorate trees and wrap boxes and all sorts. The fact that Mr Stan generally brought out tea and biscuits for the parent helpers had nothing to do with it. It was pure altruism. You were still sure you were noticing something that wasn’t really there. Your talk these days wasn’t purely about reading levels and number lines, but you didn’t believe in yourself enough, and put it down to wishful thinking.

The day before the Christmas play, you’d taken some time off work and were spending the whole day in the school. There were a small team of you parent helpers who were setting the hall up for Christmas, and you’d never painted quite so many turkeys or crackers in your life. There was a slight element of excited hysteria as you all made jokes about shiny balls and stuffed stockings, and sniggered together. At the end of the day, the other parents left to pick up their children while you tried to get the stable to stay up, deciding it would probably be blasphemy if Joseph was brained by a papier mache beam. You’d had Max to tea the night before so Isabel was off there tonight and the pressure was off.

You heard a voice behind you as you balanced on a chair, wrapping sellotape around the stable roof to hold it in place. 

“That doesn’t look very safe… woah!” The sound of the voice had made you jump and you’d clung on to the stable to… stabilise… yourself, forgetting it was only made of cardboard and newspaper. It started to crumple and you started to topple, until you felt some strong arms holding you up around your waist. You looked down to see Isabel’s teacher holding you up. WELL worth risking a broken ankle.

“Thank you, you’ve saved the human disaster once again.” You smiled as he helped you down from the chair and you both eyed the slightly lopsided stable.

“Happy to help. Disasters get the adrenaline going after all.” He paused as if his brain had only just caught up with what his mouth had said and you giggled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment Mr Stan!”

“Sebastian”. He turned to look at you. “Mr Stan is who I am at work, call me Sebastian? And I won’t have to call you ‘Isabel’s Mum’ then.”

You smiled and tried to pretend your heart hadn’t just skipped a beat.

Between the two of you, you managed to reinforce the stable, tying bits together with string and then looping the string around hooks on the wall. You were both standing on a table, trying to keep it together but tearful with laughter. You were secretly disappointed when it was finished and you both climbed down, Mr Stan – Sebastian – climbing down first then offering you a hand. You took it and stepped down onto a chair and then the floor, now feeling embarrassed about your antics.

“Best laugh I’ve had in a long time, thank you.” That was Sebastian but it could as easily have been you.

“I was thinking the same” you said, giving him a shy smile as you left. You wished you had the courage to imagine this was more than just in your head.

The next day, the day of the play, was a complete disaster. You dropped Isabel off in the classroom and went to help set out rows of chairs, only to find Sebastian ad the school caretaker standing staring at a pigeon which had somehow got in during the night, and was now perching on the roof of the stable and staring back at them. 

“Well if the cattle were lowing and the sheep were baaing, maybe the pigeons were cooing too?” you said, as you came to stand next to them. Sebastian turned to you with an irrepressible smile on his face.

“And where in the Bible does it say that the Angel Gabriel had to wipe pigeon poo from his halo, because that’s what we’re risking” he grinned.

You had half an hour before you’d volunteered to help get 30 small excited children into costumes and shepherded (ho ho) into position for the parents to enter. You opened all the doors and windows and spent 20 of those minutes flapping blankets from the manger and a pair of angel wings at the bird before it looked at you and slowly made its way outside. You were all more than a little hysterical now, as were the children, struck down with end-of-term-itis.

All dressed up and looking adorable, you had the children lined up in position and all the parents had filed in and sat down. You were helping out at the back, prompting forgotten lines and pointing children in the right direction. It was mild chaos to say the least. From where you were sitting, you could make eye contact with Sebastian, standing at the front of the stage where everyone could see him so he could lead them in the songs.

‘Little Donkey, Little Donkey, On a dusty road…’ he mouthed emphatically as 30 five year olds tried to remember all the words, which direction to look in, not to wave to their mums, and not to pick their noses. Success was limited. You could feel a giggle bubble up and put your hand over your mouth. The first song over, and then Joseph, Mary, and a small boy dressed as a donkey walked up and down in front of the stage as another child explained their long journey. ‘Joseph’ was scowling as he led the donkey along, shuffling and looking perturbed. You’d just worked out what was wrong and were trying to decide how to remove Joseph from the whole Bible story without anyone noticing, when it was too late. Stopping in front of a cardboard door to knock and find out there was no space, ‘Joseph’ could hold it no longer and wet himself. The donkey, not realising, set off on his journey to the next inn, but stepped in the puddle and slid along the hall floor with a look of horror on his face as Joseph ran away. Mary looked uncertain and so sat herself down and waited for her ride to return.

That was no good. The snigger burst out of you and you caught Sebastian’s eye. His face was turning purple and he was biting his lip as he rounded up the donkey and you accompanied him to get changed, and find Joseph.

The class started another hymn as you found Joseph some spare robes and dried the donkey’s feet, then headed back in. By now Mary had found an inn with some room, and was sitting in the stable on her own. She saw Joseph return and stood up to wave, the rag doll she’d been hiding up her dress falling out as she did so. Mary calmly picked up the son of God and popped him on her chair, and then, as Joseph and the donkey joined her on stage, she sat back down, on the Baby Jesus. No amount of hissing and pointing from you behind the stage could catch her attention, and eventually the Angel Gabriel came down from heaven and shouted ‘don’t sit on Baby Jesus stupid’, pushing Mary off her hay bale. 

You were biting the inside of your lip by now, and let out a squeak of delight as you saw a shepherd prod the Angel Gabriel with a crook and say ‘don’t be mean or you have to go to the thinking chair!’ Gabriel sulked, having only tried to save the Baby Jesus from suffocation, and refused to say a line, and so it was Sheep No 4 – Isabel – who saved the day, declaring that Mary was going to have God’s special baby.

By the time the baby had been born (pulled off the chair and plonked in the manger), worshipped (three wise men and a host of shepherds and sheep) and Away in a Manger had been sung, order had mostly been restored. The children, all now thoroughly over-excited took a bow and then the caretaker, now dressed as Father Christmas came in with a large sack of presents. This was all too much for two of the wise men, one of whom burst into tears of joy, and the other decided to throw up with all the excitement. Luckily, he had enough sense not to be sick on the floor. Sadly the nearest container was the manger, complete with baby doll. That was it. You lost it completely as the headteacher stepped in to quickly thank parents for coming and telling them – perhaps begging – that they could take their children home and to have a lovely Christmas.

As the hall emptied, you wiped tears from your eyes and looked up to see Sebastian coming towards you. His eyes were glittering too and he was obviously restraining himself to look professional, as parents and children called out ‘goodbye’ and ‘happy Christmas’ to him. With just you, Isabel and the baby Jesus left in the hall, he sat down on the stage next to you and broke down.

“That was without doubt the most disastrous and the best nativity ever” he gasped between laughs. You started up again as you both breathlessly recounted the comedy of errors.

“When the donkey slid on the wee….. oh god…”

“Don’t sit on Baby Jesus stupid…. Ohhhhh…”

“He threw up in the manger, oh god, my stomach hurts!” Sebastian bent double, laughing and then pulled himself upright to try and catch his breath. Unfortunately, he’d grabbed onto the side of the stable for support, and as it slowly crumpled to the floor, you rested your head on his shoulder and howled, beyond all sanity now, and he put his arm around you as you both cried with laughter.

A short while later, some semblance of calm had been restored, and Sebastian had taken his arm back, although you were both still siting close together, close enough to feel the warmth of his side against you.

“I’d better get Isabel home, I expect you’re looking forward to a break from all this.” You gestured to Isabel as you spoke, who was sitting and eating her way through some leftover Christmas party biscuits and oblivious to the world.

“Some bits I’ll be glad of a break from, not everything though.” He looked up at you as he spoke and you SO wanted to believe he meant you. You pushed your hair off your face and tried to pull yourself together. 

“Thank you for all your help with this” He got up and, hands in pockets, stood in front of you as you sat on the stage. He was tall, muscly. His eyes were beautiful, his thighs were… distracting. You knew you had it bad. It had been a long time since you’d even thought this way about anyone; it had just been about getting you and Isabel through for so long.

“It’s no problem. I’ve enjoyed it.” You stood up too, but Sebastian didn’t move backwards, so you were now standing very close together. You could see the stubble that always seemed to be on his face, the length of his eyelashes. You tried not to stare but couldn’t help it.

“Maybe I could buy you a drink sometime to say thank you?” Your eyes met his and you knew you blushed again.

“I’d enjoy that too.” 

As you called out to Isabel to gather up her things, he leaned over and closed the gap between you, quickly kissing the cheek, just at the corner of your mouth. Your senses tingled at the combination of soft warm lips and scratchy stubble, and your eyes grew wide.

“Happy Christmas.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Isabel away for a few days, you can step outside the world of single-parenting for a little while, and as it turns out, Mr Stan can step away from the world of teaching too. So you both get to be slightly irresponsible adults just for one night.

Being a single parent, you didn't get out much. So when you DID get a babysitter, you tended to compress months of nights out into one. Which often meant months of alcohol all at once. Which often led to bad decisions. Isabel had gone to stay with your Mum for two nights over New Year – neither of them would cope with any longer, but they’d have a great time, and it gave you a little breather. You’d arranged with a group of friends to go out on New Year’s Eve, and by 8pm you were all already well down a range of brightly coloured overly sweet drinks and getting louder. They knew ALL about your crush on Sebastian and all the thoughts you’d had about him (and you knew about their crushes too), and things were definitely getting debauched.

So when you saw Sebastian with a group of friends in the same bar, sensible decisions went out of the window. A clue to this was when you stood up at your table, screeched at your friends, and pointed in a not-very-subtle way across the bar, shouting 'OH MY GOD IT'S HIM HE'S SO SEXY'. There was no way he hadn’t heard, or indeed anyone in the bar. Or the street. He looked over and waved and you collapsed back into your chair shrieking and giggling.

“Hey, I said I’d buy you a drink to say thank you!” Sebastian came over and put his hand on your shoulder to get your attention, to a chorus of ooOOOooh from your friends. Luckily, he wasn’t entirely sober himself and seemed oblivious to everything. He invited you and your friends to join his group at their table, so you all grabbed chairs and stools where you could, and squeezed in together. His friends were lovely, you were sure, but you were squeezed into a small space with Sebastian squashed next to you, and you were both leaning into each other to talk over the music and so you had no eyes or ears left for anyone else. Neither did he, it seemed.

You tried to engage with the group, a vague thought about propriety seeping past the alcohol filter, and heard one of your friends talking to one of Sebastian’s.

“New Year single sucks, but Sebastian and John have both had bad breakups this year so we promised a boys’ night out for them. Guess we suck at sticking to promises!” They both laughed tipsily as your head processed the thought that Sebastian had had a bad breakup. So he was single… No, the poor guy could be heart broken. Or maybe he’d dumped some wonderful girl and was actually a cad in disguise? But your brain kept saying ‘single, single!’

Alcohol leads to more than one bad decision. The next one you all made was karaoke. Karaoke wasn’t something you’d ever consider when you were sober but by the time it was gone 11pm and your friends, and his, had all had a go, it seemed the next logical step.

\--

The next morning – and the new year - dawned like a sledgehammer to the head, accompanied by the kind of stomach problems that you could only get from eating ten-day old raw chicken left in the sun. But the worst bit wasn't the nausea, or the vomiting or the headache, but the flashbacks. You remembered...

... drinking. So much drinking. And drunkenly leaning on Sebastian and smiling up into his face and saying ‘you’re just SO damn pretty’. You couldn’t remember his response and you were pretty sure that was a good thing.

… dancing. No, had you?! Yes, you remembered two of his friends and yours singing karaoke and you pulling Sebastian up to dance. Only you were both quite drunk so ‘dancing’ involved mostly propping each other upright and swaying. Oh god, you remembered being able to feel his muscles under his shirt, and asking ‘how did you get so BEEFY lifting crayons and tiny teensy chairs?!’ You remembered him giving you a smile that looked sad and muttering something about how teachers could be manly, but you hadn’t understood and so you’d just leant on his chest and sighed dreamily.

… karaoke. Oh god. Now it was coming back to you. You remembered how you’d resisted, because you did not have a good singing voice, but your friends had all insisted. Then you remembered Sebastian giving you a nudge with one arm and saying ‘dare you’, so you had.

… Poker Face. Lady Gaga. Oh god. You rested your head against the cool side of the bath and moaned in shame. That was your 'singing around the kitchen to make Isabel laugh' song, not your 'singing in public' song. Not that you had a ‘singing in public’ song because you didn’t have a singing in public voice.

… Finger guns. Oh god no. You pulled yourself into a foetal position as you cringed. Surely not. But yes, at the line ‘Russian roulette is not the same without a gun’, you remembered sashaying over to Sebastian and pretending to shoot him with finger guns. You may have said ‘pow’ as you did so. You groaned again.

You lay on the bathroom floor and prayed for death; anything to take you away from the physical and emotional turmoil you were going through. Then, suddenly, you sat bolt upright as your brain moved onto the next line in the song.

…'And baby when it's love if it's not rough it isn't fun'. No. Nonononono. You pulled a towel off the rail and held it over your face to hide from everything. You could feel your eyes filling with tears of humiliation and self-pity at your drunken antics as you remembered.

… tangling your fingers in his hair from behind and gently but firmly pulling his head back towards you as you sang, your friends and his friends all cheering you on as you finished the line and then leant down and took his bottom lip between your teeth, giving just enough pressure to make him gasp before… had you KISSED HIM?

You were so glad there was no school again any time soon. That gave you time to die, or move to another town, or, anything. What must he have thought of you? A walking disaster already and now a drunken idiot.

It wasn’t until much later, after some dry toast, weak tea and full body cringing, that a thought occurred to you. Had he… kissed you back? You had a memory of your lips pressing against his and then of his hand circling your arm, holding you down to him as he kissed you. You remembered his lips opening slightly and the warm, whisky taste of his tongue just touching against yours. Then your friend had pulled you away and sent you back to finish singing.

You lay in bed and touched your fingers to your lips as if you could still feel him there. Then your mind span forward and you remembered the countdown to midnight. Everyone had gone outside in the cold to watch nearby fireworks. You’d been inappropriately dressed of course and shivering but full of drunken happiness, then you’d felt a leather jacket being draped around your shoulders, still warm with someone’s body heat, and an arm followed the jacket, and Sebastian’s voice had whispered in your ear.

“You can’t die of cold. I’ve got another two terms of school to get through and they’ll be so much more fun with you”.

Then the clock had struck twelve, and the fireworks had gone off and you’d turned your face to look at him, his skin highlighted in alternate blue and red and green as the fireworks lit up the sky. You didn’t know who had made the first move but somehow you were both leaning in, and kissing, and the world spinning around you wasn’t only caused by the alcohol.

You lay in bed, reliving that kiss, wishing that you’d been less drunk so you could remember more, and so you could have read his responses better. Was it just a ‘it’s New Year’ kiss? Was there more? Just thinking about kissing him sent waves of enticing shivers down your body.

Much later, you thought you’d better get up and shower. As you got dressed you noticed a leather jacket on a chair in your room. You held it to your face and recognised that wonderful, male, smell that belonged to Sebastian. You sat down on the bed, still holding it and then reached for your phone to text a friend, to try and get someone else’s angle on what had happened.

As you picked up your phone, you noticed some text messages – mostly just friends wishing you Happy New Year. There was one from a contact labelled ‘Sexy Sebastian’ and you winced as you realised he must have seen you saving his number as that. Ready for humiliation, you opened the message.

‘Y/N. Last night was great. This morning I’m dying of alcohol poisoning. You’re holding my jacket hostage, maybe we could meet up over something non-alcoholic so I could reclaim it? Sx’

You smiled to yourself, he had that effect on you, and replied.

‘What kind of ransom will you pay? I’m dying too, but a coffee might make it a happier death? X’

You could feel your heart beating a little faster as you pressed send, hoping against hope that you were reading things right. You didn’t have a great track record at that.

‘Café in the Park, 3pm? I’ll pay whatever you demand ;) xx’

You started to type ‘it’s a date’, but then realised the implications and quickly changed it to ‘see you there x’, then clutched the jacket to yourself and fell backwards onto the bed, grinning and letting your head run a little wild at the two kisses, and what you’d just LOVE to demand…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day starting with a hangover and some cringe-inducing flashbacks ends a whole lot better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, really lovely people who have commented and said nice things. It really means a lot. I know i'm not a brilliant writer but I enjoy it (mostly) and I really do appreciate people being kind enough to say nice things x

You were still feeling pretty delicate when you set out for the café that afternoon. You’d drunk as much water as you could bear, managed to eat, and slept a fair bit but the light still seemed a little too bright and noises a little too loud. Focusing on your physical symptoms helped you avoid thinking about your emotions though, a potent mix of excitement, awkwardness, desire and embarrassment. Your memory of the night before was still patchy and you told yourself once again that you were an adult, and should not be drinking to that extent.

Just before 3, you pushed open the door to the café and peered inside. You hadn’t even tried wearing your contact lenses today (having had to peel off the last night’s pair when you’d obviously fallen asleep in them) so as you stepped out of the cold, your glasses fogged up in the heat. You took them off and wiped at them, peering around through squinted eyes for a familiar if blurry face.

You felt a hand on your arm and pushed your glasses back on, looking up to see Sebastian. Although he had all the tell-tale signs of a hangover – messy hair, bags under his eyes, unshaven jawline and a look of remorse – he managed to make it look incredibly sexy. You, however, felt exactly the opposite. Your skin had broken out after sleeping in makeup, you had on your loosest comfiest clothes and you looked as if you’d spent the night on a park bench, rather than in your own bed.

“Hey, how’s the head, stomach, and the rest?” He kissed your cheek and your heart jumped at the scratch of stubble even as it sank at just how platonic the kiss was.

“Not feeling quite as much like death, but not entirely chipper yet” you replied, unwrapping yourself from layers of coats and scarves as you made your way to a table near the window.

“Same here. So, can I get you a coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be great actually. Thank you.”

All the familiarity of the last few months seemed to have been replaced with this awful stilted conversation and your already weedy emotions, worn down by alcohol, made you want to cry. Had you ruined this? Sebastian brought two teas back to the table, along with some toast which you shared between you. He sat down and smiled at you, and you took the opportunity to pass the jacket over.

“Thanks for this. I, um, don’t really remember why I had it, but thank you, and I hope you weren’t too cold.” You weren’t sure why you lied. You remembered the way it felt when he draped the jacket around you, and then kept his arm around your shoulders. You remembered the feeling of being wrapped in something that still held his warmth and his smell. But you couldn’t admit that to him, so you lied. You thought you saw a look of disappointment cross his face, although you had to be imagining it.

“Yeah, my memory of last night isn’t great either” He looked up at you with a wry smile although his eyes weren’t smiling. “Great role model for the children, right?”

“Any children out late enough to see you drunk have their own issues!” He smiled genuinely at that, and pushed the toast over to you. As you ate and drank, conversation began to flow more normally again, although you wished you could just open up and tell him you remembered kissing him, and you wanted to do it again.

You stayed, chatting, for hours, until the café was due to close. You’d moved from tea to coffee and conversation had gone back to the jokey, flirty, talk that you’d enjoyed all year. You’d stopped caring about your hungover look when he admitted he’d cried into a washing up bowl that morning as he’d been sick, and contemplated calling his mum to look after him. You admitted that you’d slept in your clothes and tried to put contact lenses in on top of the pair you’d slept in before you worked out what was wrong, and he told you he thought you looked adorable in glasses. You blushed again, feeling your heart speed up as you yet again regretted your lie.

He asked after Isabel, and you told him she was staying with your Mum until the next evening. As the café owner came over to tell you they were closing, and you both stood up to leave, he turned, almost turning into you, near enough you could feel his breath on your face.

“Hey, you, um, want to get something to eat?” Other than toast, you hadn’t eaten much that day and you were feeling pretty hungry so you agreed, glad of an excuse to be together for longer.

You walked along in the cold January evening, breath misting in the air, walking close enough that your arms were touching, reaching a local Italian restaurant and checking they had space for you. Sebastian held the door open for you, and then pulled out your chair for you, smiling at you. The conversation hadn’t stopped and you felt a breathless excitement at just being near him. You were trying to shake yourself out of it, knowing that there was nothing there, but how you wanted there to be.

The waiter came and took your order, both of you opting for non-alcoholic drinks with a grin.

“Better safe than sorry. Be nice to remember tonight!” You watched Sebastian lick a drop of water off his lip and lost the thread of conversation for a moment

“Your friends seem nice. I mean, from what I can remember... They seemed like they were looking out for you?” You want to probe into the snippet you remembered about his bad breakup but didn’t know how to do it subtly. He sighed, dropping his eyes to his glass as he twisted the stem in his fingers.

“Yeah. They’d promised a men-only New Year. Me and a friend both had a tough year, relationship-wise.”

“I’m sorry we jumped in, I didn’t realise it was men-only!” You wanted to get more out but hated to see that his mood had dropped so fast. He looked up though and smiled. 

“Nah, it was good, I was glad you were there.” He took a deep breath and continued, and you sensed he just wanted to let things out.

“I was in a pretty long-term relationship, and it ended this summer. Badly. I guess it’s hit me hard, the way it ended, it knocked my confidence, in me, what I do, who I am.”

You reached over, and put your hand on his.

“I’m really sorry Sebastian. You’re a good guy, genuinely. I hope you find some happiness again.”

He entwined his fingers through yours and looked up at you. The intense blue of his eyes, when they looked straight at you, made your spine tingle.

“I think I could say the same about you Y/N. It was nice to see you being someone other than ‘Isabel’s Mum’ last night. You run yourself ragged with work and Isabel, you might not see it, but I do.” He pulled his hand back as the waiter brought your food over and your fingers felt cold and empty.

“She’s a credit to you, Isabel. And that’s ONLY to you – you said her Dad wasn’t around?” He was probing for details just as you had, but you’d always tried not to feel ashamed of what had happened so you were OK to talk about it. You sat back, fiddling with your water glass yourself now, wishing it was wine.

“No, when I told him I was pregnant, he left. That was it, gone. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but, well, I’d thought we were a serious thing. It had been nearly two years, but obviously not. I tried to keep in contact but eventually he sent me a text with a picture of him and some girl, half his age, practically half my age, and a message saying ‘I’m not interested in pregnant girls. Don’t contact me again’.” You looked up and met Sebastian’s eye and had to look away at the frown and the pity you saw. You’d always rejected that, because if someone pitied you, it meant there was something to pity, and you couldn’t cope with that.

“Who could get someone so wrong, right?” You tried to make light of it but his hand reached out for yours again and you couldn’t keep up the pretence. “Looking back I can see all the signs, I was forever trying to please him. But to be honest, I got Isabel. I hate that she doesn’t have a dad but she’s everything to me. It’s just been the two of us since she was born and I’d give up everything for her.” Thinking of Isabel always lightened your heart and you gave him a genuine smile as you started eating.

“Just the two of you, since she was born, so… you haven’t dated since?”

You felt yourself blushing at that, although you knew you had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“No. I haven’t dated anyone. Or kissed anyone. Or… anything. Not since I found out I was pregnant with Isabel.”

You could see him working it out, five-year-old plus nine months of pregnancy… yeah, you’d done the maths often enough. Nearly six years now. Then he caught your eye with a grin.

“Until last night. You definitely kissed me last night”

There it was. The unspoken truth, the elephant in the room. You blushed deeply and put your head in your hands.”

“Oh god I’m sorry, I was so, so, drunk I know that was inappropriate, you’re my daughter’s teacher!”

He pulled your hand away from your face.

“I didn’t say I minded. Not a bit of it. And I haven’t kissed anyone since Charlotte left me, if it helps. OK, it’s not 6 years, more like six months, but I really enjoyed it…”

Did he enjoy it as a change from not kissing anyone, or because it was you? Because it was the start of something? You didn’t know, and desperately tried to change the subject.

“OK, you heard my stupid story, so what happened with Charlotte?” 

“Ah Charlotte was perfect.” Sebastian shook his head ruefully as he spoke. “Not in a good way. We met through friends, got on great for the first few years. She thought it was cute at first that I was working with children, but over the last couple of years, she changed. She wanted nights out and fast cars and holidays, and my job just didn’t cut it.”

He paused and you could see the residue of anger and hurt in his eyes. You didn’t move, unwilling to interrupt whatever was happening in his head.

“She was ambitious, got promoted a lot, and that’s when she stopped wanting to introduce me to people as ‘a teacher’, especially of little kids. That just wasn’t cool, or high powered enough. And if I spent my evenings covered in glue or getting resources ready, that wasn’t what she wanted all over the house. Then she started telling me it wasn’t ‘manly’ to work with kids. God!” He huffed out a sigh of frustration.

“I even started going to the gym, to try and prove myself to her, I loved her so much.” You remembered him wincing last night, as you’d asked how a teacher could be so muscly, and hated that someone had made him feel so insecure, when he was so good.

“I wasn’t giving up a job I loved for her, and if she loved me, she wouldn’t ask me to.” He looked up, met your eyes. “Eventually, she just walked. Now, she’s already engaged to a banker with a yacht in the Maldives”. He looked lost, confused by what had happened.

“So, we both had relationships with dicks then?” At that he laughed, loud and surprised, and the sombre mood was broken.

You talked of lighter things through the rest of the meal, although the atmosphere of closeness brought on by your confessions wasn’t lost. After the meal, you walked out in to the New Year dark and cold, and without thinking you wrapped your arm around his waist and Sebastian pulled you into his side as you walked along, sharing physical warmth but so much more. You walked home, quieter now in the dark, until you reached your door.

“Thanks for today Sebastian.” You turned to face him, unsure what the rules of whatever-this-was were, and hoping that he would. Last night’s kiss surely was a drunken thing, not to be repeated sober. A voice in your head was calling out that you were a mother, you had the stretch marks and the exhaustion to prove it, you weren’t a catch. But Sebastian wasn’t listening to those voices. 

He stepped towards you, pulling you in against him so your chests were pressed close. His lips were cold as they brushed against yours, while you ran your hands inside his coat and shirt, feeling his skin ripple as you touched him. The warmth of his tongue against your chilled lips made you moan quietly and he pulled you in harder, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of your neck, the other stroking your face. Your hands slid down over his jeans, squeezing his backside and pulling it towards you, making him growl with desire. 

You sighed with frustration as rain started to fall on you, slowly at first but the fat drops increasingly heavy as you pulled apart reluctantly. 

“Thank you Y/N” he said as he let you go, then just before he turned to walk off, he turned, tugged on your hair, making you gasp, then bit down on your bottom lip.

“That’s for the karaoke,” he said, then licked across the throbbing pain as you whimpered. He pressed his forehead against yours and, eyes half closed, whispered “Thank you” again, then quickly let go, as if he feared he wouldn’t be able to.

As you watched him walk down the street, he stopped under the first streetlamp and turned to wave. As he turned back, he shot you with finger guns, and shouted ‘pow’ then ran off into the rain.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of princessy sparkle, and some errant technology.

With Isabel home the next day, and spending time with her, and getting back to work, you didn’t expect to see Sebastian again until school started again. You were sending each other texts constantly though, and you caught yourself grinning at your phone when a new message arrived, schoolgirl-crush levels of excitement as your heartbeat sped up and you read and re-read his messages. Throughout the days, they veered from chatty to silly to flirty and you liked them all. 

It was a couple of days later, close to the start of school, and you were playing with Isabel, giving her at least 95% of your attention although you tended to keep your phone close to you all the time now.

*Hey. Why is it that even though my head doesn’t hurt any more, the cringing hasn’t stopped? Remind me never to drink again?

**Preaching to the choir Sebastian. Alcohol is dangerous, someone should warn the public!

*It’s deadly, why don’t people know? Oh wait, no, alcohol and YOU is fun. It’s only not fun when it’s in me. You + alcohol = karaoke + kissing

**Don’t bring out the maths. Or the karaoke. I was hoping you were too drunk to remember my singing

*I don’t remember the singing that much. But I do remember the kiss… If I buy you another drink, can we do that again?

**Right now I’m kinda busy playing Princess Unicorn and the Ninja Turtles… But I don’t need a drink to want to kiss you. Or… to want more than a kiss.

** You stopped replying?

** Sebastian?

Shit. Had you taken it too far? You read back over your messages, surely there wasn’t anything to take offence at there? You told yourself that he was probably busy. Lesson planning and cooking and living his normal life, and he didn’t need to text you every five minutes, but even so, you started to doubt yourself. 

You gave yourself a shake, and set your phone down on the table, silenced, and gave your all to the game. Isabel had been given a Princess Unicorn make up set for Christmas and had insisted on ‘doing you up’ as she put it, so you had glitter all over your face and lips, and your hair was laden with sparkly hair clips. You were both wearing Ninja Turtle t-shirts – you’d found matching ones, which had thrilled Isabel – and you were carrying a bow and arrow, ready to fend off attacks from monsters. 

The doorbell rang. You heaved yourself from behind the sofa, where you and Isabel had your lookout, and went to open it, calling back over your shoulder as you reached the door.

“You’ve got me covered Iz-wiz, right? Watch my back! Oh.”

You’d assumed postman, or neighbour, or cold caller. And you’d forgotten about your appearance. Right up until you opened the door and there was Sebastian. You froze, and felt your eyes widen – as much as they could under layers of sparkle mascara and purple eyeshadow. Sebastian stood, also stock still, and stared at you again.

“Oh.” You repeated, and you voice broke the spell. Sebastian burst into laughter, pointing at you with one hand and clutching at his stomach with the other. You felt your lip twitching, you DID look ridiculous, but jeez, didn’t he understand, there were MONSTERS. You couldn’t go into battle unprepared. There was only one response. You narrowed your eyes at him as he straightened up and tried to calm down. Then, maintaining eye contact throughout, you slowly lifted your bow, and shot him with a sucker tipped arrow.

At that, you both dissolved into giggles, and you stepped back away from the door, gesturing for him to come in out of the cold. He walked into the hallway, putting one hand on your waist as he passed and leaning in to kiss your cheek. You smirked as you realised that his actions had left a smear of iridescent pink across his lips.

Isabel came ninja-style out of the front room to see what the noise was about, doing her best 5-year-old attempt at a forward roll and crashing into a bookcase. You hurried over to stand her up and rub the bump as she looked up.

“Mr Stan! You’re not in school!”

Your relationship, for want of a better word, with Sebastian, had somehow taken on a separate life to Isabel’s relationship with her teacher and for a moment you weren’t sure what to do now worlds had collided. For Isabel, the very idea that her teacher existed outside the classroom was exciting enough, but to have him in her house was miraculous. You smiled as he let himself be pulled into the room to see ‘my Ninja Turtles and my new book and I did writing with Gran and we made a cake and also I drew another picture’. Isabel was a whirl of liveliness. You mouthed ‘coffee?’ at Sebastian and he nodded, while admiring a Ninja Turtle that had been pushed into his hands.

You went into the kitchen, and caught sight of your reflection as you passed a window, dark outside now. Your hand went to your hair, filled with multiple clips, and you were about to start removing them, but stopped. He’d already seen you like this and you didn’t want him to think you were making an effort. Plus, he’d come to your home, while you were with your child. Having fun with her was what you were doing here, and for whatever reason he’d turned up, she came first. But why had he turned up? Your mind went back to your last text. Oh. Maybe he’d assumed you were offering to have sex with him so he’d just come around? WERE you offering to have sex with him? I mean, not that you hadn’t thought about it. Often. But not like this. You had just been joking around but maybe he thought he could just roll up and you’d put out?

By the time you headed back into the front room with a tray of coffee, apple juice, and Isabel’s cake (coloured green for turtles and with pink sparkles on top for unicorns), you were frowning and had worked yourself into a state of slight resentment. Walking in and seeing Sebastian sitting on the floor admiring Isabel’s writing though, made things harder. He seemed such a genuine, nice, man. But perhaps not? You didn’t have a great track record at spotting the good ones.

“Mummy where is my picture that I did on another day that had Mr Stan?” You’d forgotten the latest in her series of ‘Mr Stan is part of our family’ pictures – her adoration of her teacher hadn’t ended despite the Christmas break. You told Isabel it was in her room and she ran off to look for it.

You handed over the coffee and tried not to melt at Sebastian’s smile of thanks, sitting yourself down on a chair not too near where he’d been sitting on the floor. 

“Um, so, why are you here? After my last message?”

He looked slightly perplexed at your sudden change of demeanor, and you could see him thinking back over your messages.

“I missed you.” That wasn’t what you’d expected, and it made your insides twist with a quiet delight at his honesty. “That’s all. I guess it is kinda weird that I just turned up. I’m sorry. I’ll just look at Isabel’s picture, then go.”

The fact he was thinking about Isabel and her picture was so damn thoughtful, so sweet.

“No, you don’t have to, I just, wasn’t expecting you. And I wasn’t sure what you were expecting…”

“Not that hair, if I’m honest,” he grinned and you acknowledged the ridiculous style. “Not that you can’t carry it off. Or not that I’d admit it anyway, since you’re armed and dangerous”

He gave you a rueful smile.

“It is weird isn’t it, turning up. Did I read too much into the messages? I haven’t stopped thinking about you, I feel like we’re friends, even if it’s just been texts.”

You still weren’t sure what he meant. Did ‘reading too much into the messages’ mean he HAD expected sex, or that he had just assumed friendship? At that point, Isabel returned, waving her giant picture.

“Mr Stan Mr Stan Mr Stan look Mr Stan.” He took hold of the picture, giving you a sweet smile over the top as he focussed on Isabel. “This is you and me and Mummy and Bucky and we are watching fireworks. Mummy said she saw fireworks at new year and they were loud. Bucky doesn’t like the fireworks so I am holding his paw, and Mummy doesn’t like the fireworks so you are holding her hand. And I am eating ice-cream.”

“That is the best picture Isabel, I love it! If Mummy didn’t like the fireworks, we could both hold her hands couldn’t we?” His eyes slipped up to meet yours. You loved watching him with children, he paid them such genuine attention and they revelled in it.

“No Mr Stan, you have to. I have to hold Bucky’s paw and I have to eat ice cream and that is two things and I have two hands. So you hold mummy’s hand.”

“I can do that. Thank you for showing me this Isabel, you’re a brilliant artist!”

Isabel took the picture back to her room and you heard her start to play up there, dragging out some boxes of toys.

Sebastian stood up, brushing off his knees and then looking at you.

“Sorry. For barging in. I think I just wanted to see you” He paused. “I look forward to your text messages all day.”

Despite the hair clips and Turtles t-shirt and shiny face, you were an adult. And the adult thing to do was to talk things out. Plus, you didn’t want him to leave.

“I look forward to yours too. All the time. You don’t have to go, it’s nice you’re here. I just wasn’t sure, if…” Now it was your turn to pause. “Look, that last message, I didn’t mean you could just turn up and I’d sleep with you. It was just meant to be jokey. I mean, god, not that I haven’t thought about sleeping with you a lot, but you can’t just turn up, and when Isabel is here, I mean, maybe one day, but, god, I do like you, but yeah, I am your friend, I like you a lot, but…”

You tailed off, both because you weren’t adulting as well as you’d hoped, and because he was looking at you blankly. 

“What are you talking about Y/N?”

He pulled out his phone, and you reached for yours on the table.

“You hoped I was too drunk to remember your singing? Is that, like, a really obscure jokey way of saying you’d sleep with me, because I don’t get it.”

“No, the next one!” You moved to stand next to him, putting your phone alongside his. Your last message hadn’t arrived. On your screen, there it was, ‘Right now I’m kinda busy playing Princess Unicorn rescues the Ninja Turtles… But I don’t need a drink to want to kiss you. Or… to want more than a kiss.’ But not on his.

“Ohhhh.” You shot him a sheepish look. “Sorry”

“Ahhh. OK, I get it now. At least I’d have been forewarned of the Unicorn Turtle thing” He prodded one of the hairclips gently. “But no, I didn’t rock up here thinking I could just sleep with you. I really did just miss you.”

He cupped your head in one hand, sliding his thumb down your cheek, then snorting and holding it up to show you how it sparkled with glitter make up. You smiled at him.

“I missed you. But I’m not going to deny that I’ve been thinking about more too, and I’m not going to deny that I love that you have. But that’s not what I came for.”

You put your arm around his waist and reached up to his lips, pressing a soft but lingering kiss on him. As you pulled away, he ran the tip of his tongue across your lips then giggled.

“Unicorns taste of strawberries. Who knew!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slow build has to go even slower, but things work out in the end, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff fluffy floofly fluff.

So that was it of course, you got your happy ending and sailed off into the sun on a sea of sex and happiness. 

**The end**

Or, not.

Sebastian stayed for dinner, and you didn’t even try to pretend that fish fingers and beans was a culinary masterpiece, but that was what Isabel wanted. He sat and read the paper downstairs while you put Isabel to bed and it all felt enticingly, terrifyingly, domestic. 

When you came back down, you poured two glasses of wine and sat down together on the sofa. You both started talking at once, then both stopped, laughing. You sipped your wine, feeling self-conscious now you were alone and not separated by a text message.

Sebastian leaned closer and kissed you, gently, on the lips.

“So there’s a problem, I think.” Oh god. He was married. Had kids? Two months to live? Was gay? Or just didn’t like you? You gulped down another mouthful of wine then coughed as it went down the wrong way.

“I like you. And I get the feeling you like me. And that is unbelievable. You’re perfect. Perfectly imperfect. You still have a rainbow face and you have fish finger crumbs down your Ninja Turtle t-shirt and all I want to do is spend the evening kissing you.” He kissed you again, gently, to prove it.

“But. There’s a but, isn’t there?”

“I’m Isabel’s teacher. And I will be for another seven months. And ethically, professionally, that throws up some issues.”

Shit. Of course it did. You’d been so busy thinking about him as Sebastian but he was also Mr Stan, and that came first.

“Ah. Crap. Crappy crap. Bollocks.” You finished your wine and then let your head fall back against the sofa, dispirited. “Look, can I just check, is that an excuse? Because you can just tell me if you’re not interested.”

He leant over, took your empty glass away and put it down on the floor, then wrapped his fingers through yours.

“It’s not an excuse. It’s a stumbling block but we can manage, right? In July, Isabel moves up a year and I’m not her teacher. Seven months is nothing. Kind of. Seven months, we’ll hang out, be friends. We’ll get to know each other better, but that’s it. Just for seven months.”

You stayed silent, trying to work this out. Seven months of hanging out with the sexiest man you’d met in a very long time, with no touching allowed. Sebastian took your silence the wrong way.

“I know, I’m asking too much, I’m sorry.” He tried to pull his hand away but you held on.

“No, I was just thinking that I feel like a dog given a bone and told to wait… But let’s be honest, I’ve waited since before Isabel was born. Let’s give it a go?”

So you did. Seven months. Can you imagine seven months of having the sexiest, juiciest bone in front of you and not being allowed to lick it, if you’ll excuse the metaphor. Seven months of school drop-offs and pick-ups and parents’ evenings and school plays. Seven months of text messages and phone calls and the occasional ‘hands where I can see them’ dinners and cinema trips. Seven months. Twenty-eight weeks. Two hundred and ten days and nights.

It was an odd situation, where you drew the line. You spent most weekends together, as friends. Went out for the day, went out for meals. You spent time with Isabel together, and people tried to sell you family tickets and talked to Sebastian as if he was Isabel’s Dad. Was it any better or worse professionally, this closeness without the physical? No idea, but it was how you’d decided to go. 

Not that you quite managed seven months of absolute chastity. Where there was hand-holding and walking in the sunshine, or sitting in dark cinemas, there was sometimes kissing. Where there were meals at restaurants, there was footsie under the table. And then there was the day in the Easter holidays when you all went out to an Easter egg hunt, and Isabel got so overdosed on chocolate and excitement that she fell asleep in the car. 

Sebastian had carried her in and laid her on her bed. When he came downstairs you noticed that he’d got a chocolate smear on his cheek. You pointed it out but when he wiped his cheek, he missed it, so you came closer and held his face in your hands, and wiped it off, slowly and gently, keeping your eyes on his while you did. And then, as you became aware of his breath speeding up from being so close to you, you slowly slid your finger into your mouth, licking the chocolate off. Sebastian watched you, his breath coming harder, as you pulled your finger out, and then his hand was around the back of your head and he was kissing you, hard. He could taste the chocolate on your tongue and the sweetness mixed with the indefinable taste of you, and made his eyes close with lust. He pushed you up against the fridge, trapping you, and your arms were around his waist, pulling him closer. You could feel him hard against you and you couldn’t control the noises you were making and neither of you could stop.

Until you heard Isabel crying from upstairs, having just thrown up chocolate all down herself. That kind of ruined the mood. You took her into the bathroom to wash her and change her, and when you got back into her room, you found that Sebastian had stripped and re-made the bed so you could settle her back in. You went downstairs and all you wanted to do now was to rest your head on his chest and be so damn grateful for a friend like this.

Then in June it was Isabel’s sixth birthday. Sebastian wasn’t coming to her party, but he was going to come over afterwards. He did, and stayed all afternoon, and if your hands met a few times, well, that was OK. The house was chaos by the time he arrived – a horde of 5 and 6 year olds can do more damage than stampeding wildebeest – and you kept apologising as you weren’t the best company while you hoovered crumbs and glitter from every surface; tried to find homes for mountains of new toys; and tried to manage the comedown of a six-year-old who had hyped herself up for the party and was now sunk in despair that it was over. 

Just as you could feel yourself about to ruin her birthday completely (and Sebastian’s opinion of you surely) by swearing at her loudly for her whining, he shifted the mood, bringing out a present for Isabel. She squealed with delight at the idea of MORE presents, then squealed again to find it was a Ninja Turtles drawing game. Sebastian, without showing any sign of resenting spending his weekend with children, when he spent all week with them, sat down and started drawing with her. He looked up at you and winked as she was engrossed in telling him what he was doing wrong and you mouthed ‘thank you!’ gratefully. As you stood by the table and watched the, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean against him. You ran your fingers through the hairs at the back of his neck, and he wrapped his free arm around you. Through his shirt you could feel his muscles moving against your body and you felt dizzy with desire.

You finished clearing up, then stuck a by-now-exhausted Isabel in a bath and into bed, heading downstairs. You knew there was no way you could have turned Sebastian way today, and you hoped he wouldn’t want to leave, but yet again it wasn’t to be. You sat down, close on the sofa, Netflix on, fingers entwined. Sebastian leant towards you and started placing hot, wet kisses along your neck, making you whimper and tilt your head. Gradually you slid down until were lying down, with Sebastian lying on top of you. You could feel his body all along your skin and you closed your eyes and gave in to the delicious sensation of his gentle kisses. But an hour later, Sebastian was shaking you awake and telling you to go on up to bed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, realising you’d been drooling in your sleep.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry Sebastian. Oh, why do you keep turning up? You get none of the benefits of dating someone, and all the downsides of single parenthood and she’s not even yours.”

Sebastian crouched down next to where you lay on the sofa, and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“I’ve told you why. You’re more than worth the wait. And I could no more stop coming around now than I could stop breathing. So shush. Go to bed.” And he kissed you, warm and soft, and left.

And now it was July, and the weight of expectation was terrifying. It was the last day of term. Isabel had gone off on holiday with your Mum for a week, full of delight at the thought of the summer holidays ahead of her. Sebastian was going out for a meal with all the other teachers, but intended to come around straight after. And you had spent the afternoon since Isabel left pacing the floor.

It had been nearly 7 years now since you’d last had sex. Seven years, you kept repeating. What if things had changed since then? What if you got something wrong? After making Sebastian wait all that time. And he was younger than you, what if there was something that all the cool young kids did that you didn’t know about? Plus, you had all the stretchmarks that a 9lb baby could provide. You were working yourself more and more up into a state, not helped by the increasingly drunk and lust-filled texts that Sebastian kept sending.

You’d changed the sheets, you’d had two baths, you’d exfoliated and depilated and moisturised and conditioned and now you were drinking and feeling anxious. Seven months of waiting was a lot of pressure. You were trying to find a way out when the doorbell rang.

And then there was Sebastian, and why would you ever have wanted a way out. He was leaning drunkenly against the door frame, sloppy grin on his face, hair messed up.

“Hey doll”, he slurred slightly, then lurched into the house. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’re distracting. ‘S’ lovely” He put his arms around you and squeezed you.

“Think I need some coffee. And water. Ned to be able to apprec’ate how beautiful you are”. You steered him into the kitchen, where he flopped down on a chair and beamed at you, as you poured him water and made coffee

“Tol’ everyone about you. Everyone. ‘Bout how lucky I am.” You spun to face him.

“I thought the whole point was that there was nothing to tell, for your job!”

“I know, tol’ ‘em that too. Nothing to see here! Everyone knew anyway. Mrs Barnes thinks s’cute”

Everyone knew anyway? You’d waited seven months for nothing? And the head teacher thought it was adorable. You weren’t sure if you should be frustrated at the wait, or just glad it was over.

“Drink up drunkboy, then come tell me about your day.”

By the time Sebastian had drunk three glasses of water and two mugs of coffee, he was a little more sober. You sat together, wrapped around each other, and talked, but the elephant in the room was looming large for you, and you had to say something.

“Sebastian, I’m… shit, look, it’s been seven years and I’m really nervous OK. Just don’t expect me to, y’know, be any good.” You couldn’t meet his eye, staring down at your hands as if they were the most fascinating things you’d seen. He tilted your head up with a finger under your chin.

“Baby. It’s us. It’s going to be good because it’s you and me. And I love you.”

He’d never said that before, neither of you had, it was a conscious but unspoken decision, not to move things along hen everything was on hold. But you’d thought it. He leant forward, his forehead against yours.

“I love you Y/N”, then before you could reply, his mouth was on yours. Without stopping kissing you, he pulled you onto his lap, your knees either side of his thighs, and kissed you hard, bruising your lips and leaving them throbbing.

“I love that you’re not afraid to be ridiculous. I love that you put Isabel first. I love that you care about me. I love that you think my job is good enough. I love that you don’t want a fucking yacht.”

“Actually Sebastian, I get seasick. I’ll never want a yacht.” You grinned against his lips, but when he tried to kiss you again, you pulled back.

“Wait. My turn. I love you too Sebastian. I love that you love your job, and I love that you’re sweet and kind. I love you when you’re drunk and stupid and not afraid to pretend to be a unicorn. I love that you’re angry about bad things and I love you for waiting.” 

Now you leant forward and kissed him. You could feel your lip pulsing against his where he’d bitten it, and you knew it was swollen, marking you with his desire. You pushed your hands inside his shirt, feeling his skin jump as your hands ran across it, soft and smooth, with the firmness of muscles underneath, tensing with desire. Your hands slid up his chest, tangling in the coarse hair then sliding across and around to his back, pulling his closer still.

Sebastian’s hands were tangled in your hair still, moving your head as he kissed breathily against your neck, and onto your mouth, desperate for the taste of you after so long. You pulled back, tingling, for just long enough to find and undo his shirt buttons, sliding the shirt off him and both laughing as his arms tangled in the sleeves, Sebastian flapping his arms with frustration to try and take it off. Finally bare, he pulled your t-shirt up over your head. You leant down to kiss along his bare chest as he moaned, then, unable to wait much longer, he stood up, gripping you tight as you wrapped your legs around his waist and carried you upstairs.

Or, tried. But alcohol. Half way up the stairs, he stumbled and you landed, hard, laughing but winded, on one of the steps, Sebastian only just stopping himself from falling on top of you at the last minute. You pulled yourself up, giggling, and grabbed at his hand, tugging him up the stairs to your room, muttering ‘you big dork’ as you went.

In your room, all anxiety was lost. You stood in the quiet dark kissing, breathing deeply, making little sharp gasps of excitement into each other’s mouths. You fumbled to undo his jeans, pushing them down and he did the same to you, both stumbling in your haste, tripping as you stepped out of your clothes. Sebastian reached around and undid your bra and now you were both naked, the air warm on your skin but your skin prickling with his closeness.

You lifted your head up to look at Sebastian and even in the dim light could make out his eyes, fixed on you. He ran his finger across your lips softly, watching intently as he pushed it into your mouth and you sucked it in, your eyes closing. Gently, Sebastian walked you backwards towards the bed.

It wasn’t perfect. It had been a long time for both of you, and Sebastian was very drunk. But none of it mattered. It was perfectly imperfect, just the way you wanted it. And you had a whole week to get it right.

**Epilogue.**

Two years later, and Isabel was no longer obsessed with turtles, unicorns, or her teacher. She didn’t draw pictures of you, her, Mr Stan and her imaginary dog Bucky any more.

She did draw pictures of you, her, her real dog Bucky, and Sebastian. Or Dad, as she now called him.

Your favourite picture though, wasn’t a drawing, but a photo. It was a selfie, taken on a normal day at home, just over a year ago. Isabel was six, nearly 7, gap-toothed and tousle-haired. Bucky was only a puppy then still, floppy-eared and lolling tongue. It was a photo of chaos. You were holding Isabel, who was trying to hold Bucky, who was wriggling, and you were all just a jumble of limbs. And Sebastian was trying to fit you all into the shot. He wasn’t looking at the camera though, to see if you were all in the frame, which is why the photo was at an angle and slightly blurry. He was looking at you. He had his free arm wrapped around Isabel, tickling her, and he was looking at you, as you laughed, and he was smiling, and you could see the love in his eyes. And you love that picture, because looking back, you can see the future starting in it.

That was the day when you’d just started feeling really well again after the flu. Sebastian had looked after you, and taken care of Isabel, the whole time. They’d gone out for the day the day before, leaving you to rest, telling you they were getting shopping. But they’d got something else.

The day the photo was taken, was the day Sebastian brought out two small boxes that he’d picked up with Isabel. One was the one he used to ask you to marry him. The other was the one he gave to Isabel at the same time. That was the day she called him Dad for the first time. That was the day you became a family.


End file.
